


The Worst of Highs

by walkerofthestars



Category: Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Bruce trying to be a good dad, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, I think that's the one?, Rape Aftermath, References to Nightwing #93, Whump, fear toxin, nothing explicitly said, the whole... Catalina Flores situation, you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28417488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkerofthestars/pseuds/walkerofthestars
Summary: Nightwing and Batman, the OG dynamic duo, are back to back and taking down tonight's bad guy, nothing special.At least, it wouldn't have been special if Nightwing hadn't been hit with fear toxin.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 10
Kudos: 118





	The Worst of Highs

It’s just batman and Nightwing in Gotham, just like old days. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson, though no one knew that part, back to back and side by side, taking down the bad guys and cleaning up Gotham’s streets.

The others were all away on respective missions and adventures. Even Alfred was on leave in England for the week, Damian with him. the once-assassin now-robin needed the time off in a new place.

So it was just two heroes in Gotham that night, dealing with Scarecrow. One could therefore consider themselves lucky that it was only _one_ of them who got hit with fear toxin.

Batman blamed himself. Dick only got hit because Bruce got injured. A hit to the leg, a grunt in pain, a stumble and Dick was in, protecting him and backing him up, like clockwork. Scarecrow had expected it, and he’d aimed and fired with ease. The dart had landed square on Dick’s neck. He’d blinked, surprised, taken the dart out and stared at it a moment.

He and Batman realised at the same time. They were lucky they were almost done taking everyone down. It was just a few hits to scarecrow and they were done. Bruce may have punched Cane in the jaw harder than usual. Who could blame him?

He administered the anti-agent to Nightwing, who had taken Bruce’s order of ‘sit down, breathe slow’ to stop the spread of the poison now pumping in his bloodstream.

But the anti-agent didn’t work. Nightwing’s breathing became laboured, his vision blurred and spaced, he became unable to walk and Bruce had to support him, hitting the button to bring the batmobile to them. It couldn’t come all the way, they still a bit to walk.

So it was a new formula then, and the most the anti-agent had done was slow the process.

“Nightwing, status,” Bruce ordered, slowly shutting down any emotive reaction to this. He needed a level head. his son, his eldest, was in pain, was slowly losing his mind, and Bruce was the only person who could help. He couldn’t be distracted.

Dick didn’t answer.

The Batmobile was two more blocks.

“Nightwing, _status_ ,” Bruce ordered, voice a little too rough.

Dick groaned, leaning heavily on Bruce’s shoulder as he tried to keep his feet under him, “still… breathing.”

“how’s your vision?”

“blurry.”

Bruce took a deep breath, “just hang in there, chum.”

Dick only huffed lightly, “how’s your… leg?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, “it’s not deep, I’ll manage.”

Dick breathed a sigh of relief, “good.”

“you need to worry about yourself.”

“I try not… to make that-uh, a,” he breathed deep, short of breath already, “a habit.”

“try not to talk, focus your breathing.”

“what, am I-“ he cleared his throat, Bruce could tell he was fighting off a coughing fit. He’d been glancing off to the left several times and Bruce had noticed the sweat at his temple. The toxin was setting in, well and truly, he finished asking his joking question anyway, “am I annoying… you?”

“never, chum,” Bruce said, “don’t stress yourself.”

Dick didn’t answer, Bruce glanced at him. the mask covered his eyes but something about his expression told Bruce that he was staring, dazed. He felt something cold in his gut. Dick had turned tense, his breathing short.

“Nightwing, Status.”

Dick went taught, his breath stuttered in a restrained gasp. He flinched, then wrenched his arm from Bruce’s grasp and stumbled away.

Ah, it seemed the toxin had set in completely.

Dick stumbled back, mumbling under his breath. Bruce couldn’t discern the words. he was struck with the need to comfort, to launch forward and hold Dick close and rock him back and forth while he muttered words of support and comfort. But he couldn’t, in this state he’d just make things worse.

The batmobile was just at the end fo the street, he just had to get him there.

“Nightwing,” Bruce tried, voice low and as nonthreatening as he could muster.

Dick didn’t answer, he just flinched away, shaking his head as he held a hand up between him and Bruce, breathing fast.

“no,” Dick’s voice was half air, his face was beginning to crumple as tears slipped out from under his mask, “no, no, no, no, no, no.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce stepped forward, knowing that the smart move would be to restrain Dick quickly and get him in the batmobile, “breathe.” He was still talking to him, he knew it was useless and it would do nothing, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying.

Dick sobbed, hitting the wall of the alley. Bruce filtered the words out as he started begging. Walking closer slowly, trying to be nonthreatening, knowing it wouldn’t matter.

Bruce grabbed Dick’s forearm, and that’s when he started screaming.

Bruce shut down every emotion as his son started screeching. He grabbed him by the biceps and held him, Dick’s back against his chest. Dick was squirming, fighting, screaming, kicking and thrashing and trying so damn hard. Something was breaking in Bruce as he held his son, but he refused to acknowledge it until they were both in the Batcave, _safe_.

It started raining.

The water was an annoyance that Bruce could ignore, but it seemed to just make Dick’s sobbing worse. He froze up in Bruce’s arms for a fraction of a second and then everything seemed to become so much worse.

“ _no,_ god _no_ , please, get- get _off of me!_ ” Dick was thrashing, voice near to shrieking once more, “please, please, no, please, don’t touch me, I- please!”

He hauled Dick towards the batmobile, his son screaming wildly and begging, god he was _begging_. Words rushing past his lips with near no meaning, but the one sure thing was that he was constantly repeating the word ‘please’.

Dick was sobbing and crying and begging and Bruce could feel himself shattering. He let go of him for a moment to hit a button in his belt that opened the boot of the car, Dick almost managed to escape Bruce’s grip but he was no where near his peak performance or skill, far too distracted with he enemies and demons he was imagining at the moment, far too wrapped up in his fears and worries and constant anxieties about his failures.

“please,” Dick sobbed, as Bruce grabbed him again, hauling him into the boot of the car, “please, no, god no, please, don’t touch me, I can’t-please.” He devolved into a fit of sobs once more, trying to escape Bruce as he restrained him in the car. Dick was still thrashing and Bruce considered it a miracle he hadn’t broken anything yet, but it was still a possibility.

Bruce wanted to comfort him, wanted to do so many things, but he’d shut down every part of him that wasn’t Batman. and Batman took pause for a moment at the flinching and screaming that his son was doing in the face of being touched and he filed that information as strange. As something to ask his son about when he was in his right mind again.

He finished restraining Dick, closed the boot and swung into the driver’s seat. He could still hear, ever so slightly, his son thrashing and pounding at the inside of the car’s boot. He was screaming, incoherent shrieking that eventually petered out into sobs too quiet for Bruce to hear it.

He screeched into the Batcave, tires squealing. He opened the boot, Dick had stopped fighting. He was now sobbing, curled on himself as much as he could, crying and pleading and apologising. As Bruce undid the restraints and hauled Dick to a table he could hear him, wishing for Bruce to save him, begging for an unknown and invisible perpetrator to stop hurting him, to stop _touching_ him, to _let him go_.

He restrained him once more, knowing that Dick would start screaming bloody murder once more as soon as Bruce touched his skin with the needle. But Bruce had to. He needed a sample of Dick’s blood so he could figure out how to counteract the toxin.

And his prediction was right. Except it took less than the needle, all Bruce had to do was remove one of Nightwing’s gloves and roll up his sleeve. As bare skin was hit with air, his glove dripping water back onto his wrist, Dick froze up and started screaming, thrashing against the restraints with a renewed vigour. Bruce heard something crack. He held Dick’s wrist down and stuck the needle in.

In the hour it took to make a new anti-agent Dick came down from his bloodcurdling screaming fit once more, devolving into sobs and soft begging, whimpering any time he moved his left hand. Bruce sat in a chair pulled up to the table, knee bouncing with anxiety as he waited. He wanted to offer comfort. He was never good at it, but he still did it. now, he feared so much as brushing against Dick would only make things worse.

But after about an hour the new anti-agent was done, and he injected Dick with it whilst sighing in relief.

Dick came to slowly. The sobs ceased and he stopped staring into the distance like the empty space was a blade suspended above him. Bruce busied himself by bandaging and taking care of Dick’s hand.

Dick groaned, blinking and frowning, gaze turned to Bruce, now finished bandaging the wound he’d already set.

“B?”

“I’m here chum, you’re good,” Bruce answered, deciding to pack away the med kick later, when he was done talking to his son.

Dick stared blearily, he shifted slightly, gaze turning to the restraints around his wrists. Bruce started undoing them.

“how…” Dick’s voice caught and he cleared his throat, trying again, “how long-“ he winced, his voice still sounding wrong and off, he worked past it, “was I out of it?”

“about an hour and a half,” Bruce answered.

Dick nodded, Bruce sat down once more. Dick seemed to contemplate sitting up, but he stayed down a moment more.

“why am I…” he frowned, looking down at his soaked uniform, Bruce answered before he could finish the sentence.

“it started raining,” Bruce answered, watching Dick’s expression.

Dick just nodded. Bruce had removed his mask, so he was now privy to the look in Dick’s eyes as he slid a wall down.

“you…” Bruce started, slow, having no idea how to breach this, hell, if he _should_ breach it, if it was the time. But something in his gut told him to ask, “you seemed a little… worked up, by the rain.”

Dick swallowed, rubbing at his head as he finally sat up slowly, “really?” Dick said, pretending to not care. He was still tired, a little out of it, a little dazed, and he wasn’t quite able to cover up the emotion in his voice. He wasn’t able to act as well as he could.

Which set off every alarm in Bruce’s head.

But if this was important, which he suspected it was, then he needed to take this carefully.

Bruce sighed, “come on, let’s get changed and upstairs,” he stood, “Alfred would kill us if we slept in the cave.”

Dick nodded, swinging his legs around and easing himself of the table.

As his feet hit the ground he collapsed, wincing and throwing his hand out wildly for something to support him. Bruce was at his elbow in a second, holding him up and pretending he didn’t notice Dick’s flinch.

“you okay?”

“just dizzy.”

“you’re sure?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Dick said, getting his feet under him again.

“did you get injured?”

“Bruce,” Dick levelled a look on him, “I’m. fine.”

Bruce nodded, stepping back and letting Dick get his bearings and work past the dizziness.

The two changed, Bruce trying to figure out how to approach his son. How to help. But he was, as Dinah liked to put it, emotionally constipated, and had no idea how to start that conversation.

The walked out into the study, the old clock’s door sliding closed and becoming once more hidden away. Dick rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his neck as he yawned, headed for the door.

Bruce stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“hey,” he said, “you okay?”

Dick blinked, forced a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “fine, I’ll sleep it off, I’ve been under fear toxin before.”

“no, Dick,” Bruce sighed, “I wasn’t talking about the fear toxin, I was talking in general.”

Dick laughed lightly, “Bruce, we dress up in Kevlar and punch criminals nightly, are any of us okay?”

Bruce’s expression didn’t change. He was trying his best at the face he usually wore when Dick was a kid, the soft open one that offered hugs and support when Dick came home from school upset.

“Dick,” Bruce said, “there’s something wrong, I can tell.”

Dick’s face fell. He looked away, face tired and worn out, he sighed, “Bruce, I’m fine, just tired, you know, the usual, run of the mill.”

Bruce didn’t believe him for a millisecond.

But what else was he supposed to do? Interrogate him?

“are you having trouble in Bludhaven? Is work-“

“Bruce,” Dick said, voice hard enough to hold a warning, “leave it.”

Bruce blinked, for a moment shocked at the tone of voice Dick had just used on him. his face was dark, something in it seemed wrong on him. this wasn’t Nightwing or Dick Grayson- not how batman knew him at least.

Dick turned and headed for the door, about to open it when Bruce spoke again.

“you were begging-“

“it was fear toxin,” Dick hissed, “what do you expect?”

“for me to not touch you, for some invisible person to not touch you,” Bruce finished.

Dick looked away, at the door, swallowing.

“is there something you’re not telling me?”

Dick took a deep breath.

“nothing you need to know.”

And he strode out of the room, leaving Bruce behind.

All of Bruce’s alarms were going off. He needed to get to the bottom of this. Someone, something, somehow had made his son hurt.

Bruce wouldn’t let that go.


End file.
